


Splinters

by Snapdragonia



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Character, Heavily mentioned Taemin, Implied taekai, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Sexual Kink, Platonic BDSM, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snapdragonia/pseuds/Snapdragonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin remembers when this had terrified him, when the thought of anyone but Taemin’s hands on his skin was enough to have him fleeing. He knows this is different for most people, that this kind of touch usually goes along with kissing and nakedness and sex, but for Jongin it’s nothing more than sensation. The pain is enough to white out his brain and make him forget his mistakes, distract his mind from catching over and over on every sliver of wrongness. </p><p>-</p><p>Jongin is an anxious perfectionist and Junmyeon and Jongdae help take his mind off of his dance mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinters

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for POV anxiety brain~
> 
> thank you to shawn for being the best ace mama <3 
> 
> this is heavily inspired by [this](http://jonginssoo.tumblr.com/post/132278808060/) and also that interview where kim kai said that when he makes mistakes on stage, he feels so guilty about it he can't sleep.

There are too many people in the studio, too many dancers and choreographers and camera operators. The space is just too _full,_ everyones breath and heat fogging the mirrors while they weave and spin around each other, trying to rehearse a string of choreography written for a whole warehouse. Not this small studio. Especially not Jongin’s studio. 

“No stop, stop- Jongdae-sshi, you’re still in the frame when you stand there. You have to move further.” 

 Jongin’s limbs dissolve at the choreographer’s voice, his arms flopping to his sides. There’s sweat stinging into his eyes and his throat feels raw from how he’s timing his breaths. 

“From the second chorus then, come on- move it.”

Jongin’s not particularly aware of the words or their meaning, but his body moves to it’s mark, tensing automatically. Ready to do it again even while his mind feels like it’s collapsing in, sucked into a pin-prick black hole in the center of his skull. 

 Jongin thinks Yixing might be trying to talk to him. There’s a soft tone of concern beside him. He’s halfway to summoning a response, but then the air is full of the beat, overlaid with punchy horns and their voices and Jongin just moves. 

 His cheeks feel numb with how tense he’s holding his mouth and it feels like his shoulders are going to cramp. So he just pushes harder, throws more weight behind each lunge and twist and prays it’s enough. Prays it’s good enough, because it’s everything he has in this moment. 

 Getting called out in front of the group was normal to everyone by now. In their world nothing is good enough, they are submerged in a constant stream of adjustments, critiques and criticisms. It was an equalizer for them, if anything. Jongdae might have the best voice amongst them, but in the dance studio he was constantly being corrected. The very opposite of Jongin. 

 The dance studio was _his,_ in the way he was the first to come and will be the last to leave. His because their best moves come to them under Jongin’s name. His because he stood at the front. His because here he was a leader, a teacher, and while he wasn’t always the fastest to pick up choreography, he absorbed it perfectly, right into his bones. He fused with it so there was no forgetting, no fumbles, no mistakes getting dragged out for public scrutiny.

 Here, no one is looking for his mistakes, except for Jongin himself. 

 He finds them like slivers digging under his skin, his mind catching over them again and again and again, transfixed on the queasy feeling of wrongness in his body the moment he misplaces a foot, turns too far, too soon. And like slivers, they fester under the attention, until he can barely keep his focus, can barely manage to stand under the weight of vicious guilt and disappointment throbbing at this joints, in his throat.

 The guilt was familiar, he had learned about it when he was a kid, after his very first ballet recital. He’d been too excited to dance, too heart-stopingly in love with the stage, filled too full with joy at his sisters bright grins. So much so that he turned the wrong way, leapt into bare empty space.

 That night he cried into his sisters hair, tangled it up with his small wet hands. He had wanted to be perfect and the loss of that dream had his mind wiped black with exhaustion, but every time he drifted to sleep his body jerked him awake. It felt like falling, like lurching backwards, like hurtling into space, and it had him trembling, desperate to feel in control of his limbs. So he practiced, stood next to his bed and practiced until he couldn’t tell left from right, but his body could. 

 

 So the guilt, at least, was a familiar clench at the bottom of his stomach. 

It can’t have been more than half an hour though it feels like it’s been hours, since the choreographer had called for a break and with the same breath called for Jongin. 

This wasn’t familiar or expected but the tightness around their choreographers eyes tipped him off mid-stride. His mind reeled back, replaying the last take in quarter speed, fingers brushing blind over skin and waiting for the sting. 

Jongin knows this is supposedly kinder, but it’s hard to reconcile right now. Getting called out in front of the group would have been better than this. Easier. Now he has to maintain this scrap of privacy, hold it together and pretend every person in the room doesn't know he was _wrong,_ that he messed up, as clear as if it’d been said out loud. It’s only an equalizer if it’s shared.  

Sehun shuffled over to him in the last few minutes of their break, rising on tip toes to rest his cheek on top of Jongin’s shoulder.

 “I don’t want the rest, take this.” He wrapped sweat-sticky arms around Jongin’s shoulders, pressing a cold water bottle to his sternum. It was half full, the condensation wicking into his shirt. 

Sehun was hot against his back, but comforting and solid. “Thanks, Sehunnie.”  

He couldn’t summon the effort to play along, to read Sehun’s gesture as anything but concern. Jongin reached up with both hands, catching the water bottle in one, tangling the other in Sehun’s long knobbly fingers, holding them there against his chest. 

Sehun just huffed out a breath over Jongin’s neck, dropping back onto his heels and pressing closer while Jongin emptied the water bottle in long gulps. “It’ll be done soon.” 

Sehun’s voice was small, words soft and quiet and Jongin knows he has to let go of Sehun’s fingers, but it feels like they are his only anchor. Sehun squeezes tight around him, fatigue making them both shake with the effort, then releases his grip and Jongin let him go. 

  

The break is over and they start, and then start again, and again, and Jongin’s mind pulls back a little more each time, until he’s not even thinking about his mistakes. He’s too chewed up inside to do anything but dance and pray that it’s enough. 

He knows he’s not being subtle, can see the way Junmyeon’s brows furrow together. How he’s hovering outside of Jongin’s stillness and wondering what he could say in the span of fifteen seconds between takes. 

There wasn’t any embarrassment, he thinks maybe there just isn’t room for it right now, that it’ll come later- once he’s back in his head. But for now it’s just guilt rotting out the pit of his stomach and a high, trembling desperation at his throat that makes him want to scream. He knows he’s not being subtle, and as much as he trusts these boys, knowing that they know doesn’t bring any comfort. He needs help. 

It plays like a mantra at the base of his skull, running under his execution of each dance move, filling his brain up entirely. _Please help, please please please help, someone help me, when this is over, please._ He thinks of Taemin, as much as he can manage, thinks of his voice and his hands and how it feels when he pets through Jongin’s hair. How he can calm Jongin down just with words, careful and soothing and gentle. Wipe away that corrosive guilt and help him drift to sleep. 

“That’s it, we got what we need- thank you for your hard work today guys, you’re dismissed. We will see you again Wednesday for final arrangements.”

Jongin’s arms drop like dead weight. Taemin isn’t here, Taemin who would sweep Jongin up and get him out of this studio, get him out of this headspace. He turns, takes two steps. His ears are ringing and without the bass of the song, without the choreography, taking up so much space inside of him he’s too empty, too hollow to stop everything rushing back in. It’s terrifying and he drops to his knees and elbows, right there on the studio floor and squeezes his eyes shut. _Help help help help._

He can hear the door swinging open, swinging shut, water bottles and jackets and bags in sweaty hands and the slow, groggy kind of chatter that only happens when they are truly exhausted. It sends another spike of guilt through his gut, being needy when none of them have much left to give. _Please please please please._

Sneakers squeak over the flooring, coming towards him and Jongin can feel the vibrations of each step in his knees and forearms, then the thunk of someone siting down heavily a few feet away. Jongin clenches his jaw, listens to his pulse buzz in his ears, waits. The person lets out a tired hum and it’s Jongdae, and Jongin’s spine liquifies in relief. It’s Jongdae and he knows how to help- when Taemin is gone and Jongin wants, no- needs more than Junmyeon can give, Jongdae knows how to help. 

  

“I think it’ll be fine, it’s late enough that everyone else has gone.”

“Hmm, maybe you could check the other studios on the floor, I’ll stay with him… Better to be sure we have privacy.”

“Yeah, it seems like it might be a while this time. I’ll go check.” 

Jongin must have slipped because he comes back to Jongdae and Junmyeon’s voices, soft and echoey in the empty studio. His cheek is mashed against the floor, his neck cricked uncomfortably and his knees are starting to ache under his weight. It’s better than he’s felt all night, really. 

He lets his eyes slide open a bit, shifting to straighten his neck out and swallow. He can see Jongdae in the mirror, sitting off his right flank, his eyes fixed on Jongin’s form. “Hyung,” It comes out croaky and desperate. He squeezes his eyes shut again and clears his throat. “Hyung, please,”  

It’s not much better. 

“Hey Jonginnie.” Jongdae’s voice is low and comforting and Jongin opens up his eyes to look up at the mirror. This time Jongdae meets his eyes there, and Jongin blinks slowly under the gaze. 

Jongdae’s mouth is curved in a small smile of affection and concern and warmth and Jongin relaxes, before shifting up to meet his eyes again. Jongdae’s eyes are always intense, always dark and commanding in a way that Jongin wants latched onto him completely, or else to hide from. There’s sweat starting to drip down from where Jongdae shoved his hair into a cap, and Jongin watches a drip curve over his cheekbone. Jongdae’s waiting for him. 

“Hyung, please, I need you to-“ Jongin’s face scrunches up, words feeling complicated and foreign in his mouth. For the umpteenth time he wishes he could communicate his thoughts, feelings, without them. 

“We’re going to help, it’s okay Jonginnie, we just have to wait for Junmyeon-hyung to get back.” 

 Jongin lets out a slow breath, feels something in his chest unclench at Jongdae’s words. “Okay, it’s just, I _need_.” 

 Jongdae scoots closer, and even though Jongin can see him moving, watches him reach out to put a hand on the swell of his calf, the touch still makes him jump. It feels like a hiccup, like an electric spasm that runs through his whole body. 

 “I know what you need Jonginnie, it’ll be okay. Is this good for now?” Jongdae rubs his wide palm over Jongin’s sore muscle, his grip firm and heavy. It’s grounding, and distracting, and gives Jongin something to time is breaths to as his whole body lights up with the realization that it can feel things other than the heavy crush of nauseating guilt. 

 “Yeah, yes, thank you.” Jongin sighs, letting his eyes slip closed while they wait. 

 After a few moments of silence Jongdae speaks up again. “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he lets out a little huff “but do you _need_ to talk about it?” 

 Jongin feels his throat constrict at the thought and he lets out a whine. He’s bad at lying on _good_ days, and never to Jongdae. There’s no way he can manage it now. He whines again and jerks his chin down in the smallest nod he can manage. 

 Jongdae’s smile hardens a bit, but his grip doesn’t change. Jongin breathes. 

 “Yeah I think so too, that way you can really get it out, so you don’t have to think about your mistake any more. Does that sound good?” 

 Jongin feels the unique mixture of anticipation and dread pound with his pulse and he wiggles his spine, trying to shake the feeling away. It dissipates a little, enough for him to meet Jongdae’s gaze again. “That sounds, fine, yeah- I guess.” 

 He knows it’s not enough before the words are out of his mouth, but he wants Jongdae to know he doesn’t _like_ this part, not even a little. He watches Jongdae’s mouth flatten, his eyes hardening. “You guess?”

 Jongin hears the door squeak open and tenses, eyes locked onto Jongdae as his head snaps up. He smiles, nods, and that must mean it’s Junmyeon. Jongin feels something in his gut burn with urgency. “Hyung?” His voice cracks and Jongdae’s grip tightens on his calf. 

 Junmyeon looks tired, when he comes around to sit on Jongin’s other side, positioned so Jongin can see him properly. He’s pulled a sweatshirt on over his sweaty shirt and is nuzzled down into the thick hood.

 “Do you need anything, Jongin-ah?” Junmyeon’s gaze flicks up to Jongdae and Jongin feels the loss of it and whines. He can see Jongdae and Junmyeon exchanging looks over his back, having a whole conversation without words. It has loneliness pushing up his throat like a sob, while his mind flashes Taemin’s eyes, his mouth, the curve of his neck and the splay of his fingers. His absence hurts more than usual this time.

 Junmyeon’s hand is soft on his cheek, cool and gentle and the opposite of Jongdae’s grip. “Maybe some water? Or some more time to cool down? Maybe we should do this later-“ 

 “No! Hyung- I need, it has to be now. Please, please, I know it’s… bad, but I need it.” Jongin feels his eyes prickling with tears and blinks them back.

 “Shhh, it’s not bad, we’re going to help Jonginie, it’s okay. Junmyeon-hyung just wants you to be sure, that’s all.” Jongdae moves his other hand to rest on Jongin’s thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into the dip of his hamstring. “Can you answer my question from earlier, so Junmyeon-hyung knows too?” 

 Jongin hauls in a breath, quivering with tension. He hates this part. Hates how careful Jongdae is sometimes, how insistently he demands consent. Jongin gathers all the coherency he can manage, the normalcy his brief resistance had conjured, Junmyeon’s steadying presence, and uses them up with precise words. “Yes, I need to talk about it while, while you spank me.”

Junmyeon’s hand stills on his cheek, while Jongdae’s hands tighten. The words feel like they take his last bit of resistance with them. He’s so tired. “I don't need anything else right now, please just, can we start? I can’t, handle this, anymore. Please. Like this is fine, just, hurt me please.” His voice comes out flat and quiet and it sounds strange to his ears. 

 It’s enough. Jongin feels relief wash over him as Jongdae stands behind him, talking to Junmyeon in a rush as he walks away, then paces back with two floor cushions. 

 “Lift up your knees Jonginnie,” Jongdae says, tapping Jongin’s hip and pushing a cushion into place “there, that’s it. Now lift your head up.”

 Jongin obeys, and feels Junmyeon slide around in front of him, scooting close enough so Jongin can rest his cheek on the cushion covering Junmyeon’s lap. Jongin feels his joints slowly start to relax as he heaves in a breath and then sighs into the fabric. 

 “That’s good, keep taking big breaths,” Jongdae rumbles, and Jongin recognizes the tone. It’s low and commanding, but it doesn’t feel like pressure, like how sometimes Minseok’s or even Jinki’s can. It feels warm and steady and easy to follow, like Taemin’s, so Jongin draws in another deep breath, letting his eyes slip shut. 

 Jongdae presses a hand to Jongin’s hip and it makes his throat catch around an exhale, swallowing reflexively. This part is easy, so easy, compared to everything else. Junmyeon’s fingers trace lightly over his forehead and down his jaw, and Jongin nods, feels Jongdae’s hand start to move again. 

 “Jonginnie, you’re doing so good already, relaxing for us.” Jongdae moves his other hand up to pet down Jongin’s spine, his palm catching on the sweaty cotton of Jongin’s shirt. “Do you want my hands on your skin, or over your clothes this time?” 

Jongin remembers when this had terrified him, when the thought of anyone but Taemin’s hands on his skin was enough to have him fleeing. Jongin knows this is different, for most people, that this kind of touch usually goes along with kissing and nakedness and sex. It’s why he can’t ask Sehun for help, it’s why Junmyeon’s eyes are pinched with concern even now, because for Jongin it’s nothing more than sensation. The pain is enough to white out his brain and help him forget his mistakes, distract his mind from catching over and over on every sliver of wrongness. 

“On my skin, Hyung.” Jongin feels steady between them, and he trusts them together like this more than he trusts them apart. They are good for each other, Junmyeon tempering Jongdae’s ruthlessness, Jongdae easing Junmyeon’s worries. Over time the three of them have learned how to manage this together, how to help Jongin and how to not let it tear them apart. 

Jongdae makes another pass down Jongin’s spine, bringing his fingertips to the hem of Jongin’s shirt and teasing at the tiny strip of skin there. “Okay Jonginnie, tell us if anything changes or doesn’t feel right.” 

This is familiar and Jongin nods, feels Jongdae push his shirt up to his ribs. The air is cold against his sweaty skin and he feels his skin ripple with goose-bumps over his ribs, but he knows he’ll be sweating again soon and just hums at the sensation. Jongdae sighs as he bends down and Jongin is grateful for their height difference, so Jongdae doesn’t have to reach too far. 

“He’s gonna move your pants now, okay?” It’s Junmyeon, his voice sweet and close to Jongin’s ear and Jongin scoots up, pressing the top of his head against Junmyeon’s chest and nods. 

 Jongdae’s finger tips are sliding along Jongin’s spine, dipping into the sweat cooling there and dragging it down. It feels ticklish and Jongin wiggles, trying to get Jongdae’s hands to hurry up. 

 Jongdae chuckles, squeezing Jongin’s hip for a second and then hooking his fingers into the waistbands of his sweats and underwear and tugging them down to his knees. Jongin shivers harshly at the shock of coldness and of being bare, but he nods against Junmyeon’s chest again before they can even ask. He’s more than ready. 

 “Okay, going to start now.” Jongdae says, but his voice sounds far away, like Jongin has already started to slip into that warm darkness that envelops him in these moments. 

 The first smack is light, barely a swat against his hip, but it has Junmyeon gasping at the loud sound, his fingers pressing hard under Jongin’s ear. Jongin nudges into Junmyeon’s hand and the second smack comes harder, stinging bright against his skin. 

 Jongdae moves steadily, peppering Jongin’s skin with short, stinging slaps that have his skin warming up rapidly. The heat radiates through his body, warming him up from the inside and helping him melt between them. It’s quiet in the studio except for the bright sound of skin on skin, and their occasional shuffling adjustments. 

 The first hard slap lands squarely across the crease of Jongin’s left cheek and it _hurts,_ has him gasping into the pillow and flinching up further into Junmyeon’s lap. It breaks loose something in his chest and Jongin sucks in a stuttering breath. “Hyung, again,” 

 Jongdae’s hands feel rougher than they really are when he drags his fingers over the mark his last blow has left. “We’ll get there Jonginnie, don’t worry.” 

 Jongin can feel him shift back a bit and tenses in anticipation, a whine gathering at the back of his throat. The next blow mirrors the last but it hits deeper, thudding against Jongin’s flesh and it _throbs_ painfully, forcing Jongin’s whine out strangled and high. He can feel his ears burning where Junmyeon’s fingers are tracing around them, over his brow, across his cheekbones. 

 “That’s it, that’s good, keep breathing.” Jongdae’s murmuring behind him. 

 Jongin knows thats coming, each breath pushed out with a small whine and he screws his eyes up. Jongdae rests a hand on his hip, squeezing for a brief second before pulling back and landing a hard smack against his thigh. The pain fills Jongin up completely, whiting out everything, and before it can fade another blow is landing right below the last. Then another, on his other thigh and another and Jongin looses track of the placement. Looses track of everything other than the swell of pain making his whole body pulse with heat and his thoughts dissolve. 

 Jongdae is good at this, and Jongin’s not sure how long he looses himself in the tide of it, only that the rush in his ears eventually quiets enough for him to hear Junmyeon’s voice.

 “Jongin-ah… take deeper breaths for us, a nice deep one- there,” 

 Jongin slowly takes stock of his body, notices his cheeks are wet, that Junmyeon has a hand threaded tight into his hair, that Jongdae is petting rough fingers over the raw throb that encompasses his entire backside. He feels cracked open and overflowing, like he's going to spill out over them both, like his skin isn’t nearly strong enough to keep all of this sensation inside along with the dark throb of guilt lingering in the pit of his stomach. 

 “Are you ready to talk about it Jongin-ah?” 

 The sound that forces it’s way out of Jongin’s throat is ugly, desperate and Jongin turns to press his face into the cushion, muffling the sob that comes next. It’s too much to contemplate, his heart lurching as he considers it. He can’t do it. He can’t. 

 Junmyeon’s hand is shaking faintly as he make soothing noises, petting down Jongin’s neck. He can’t do it. He can’t. There’s no way. 

 Jongin feels Jongdae’s steps towards him through he wood flooring and pushes his face harder into the cushion. Jongdae’s hands are steady, warm, and even though Jongin is shaking with the effort of muffling his sobs, Jongdae’s fingers under his jaw have him turning immediately, effortlessly. It’s impossible to resist, because even if his gut is twisting in on itself in dread, he knows this is what he needs.  

 Jongdae’s brows are pulled down in concern, his mouth tilting seriously. “Do you need to stop, Jongin?” 

 Jongin bites his mouth closed, teeth digging into his bottom lip harshly as he feels tears slip down his temples and into his hair. Jongdae doesn’t move, doesn’t speak again, just holds Jongin’s gaze and waits. 

 “No.”

 “Alright, then we won’t stop, okay?” Jongdae reaches out and smooths a thumb over Jongin’s mouth, and Jongin releases his bottom lip with a whine. “I know it’s hard, but you _can_ do it- you will do it.” 

 Jongin feels Jongdae’s words fill him up, lets Jongdae’s firm resolve and confidence soak into him. He nods, pushing out a stuttery breath and shifting back into position. Junmyeon’s hand is cupped tight over his nape, fingertips pushing into the short hairs there and it feels grounding. 

 Jongdae straightens up slowly, stretching his knees with a wince as moves behind Jongin. His breath starts coming a little quicker but he closes his mouth, breathes through his nose as steadily as he can and waits. 

 “I’m going to start again Jonginnie, and hyung is going to help you talk about it.” 

 Jongin twists, squinting up against the studio lights to make out Junmyeon’s face. He still looks tired, but there is love in his eyes, comforting and resolved and everything Jongin needs to see. Jongin smiles up at him, his lip wobbling only slightly. 

 When Jongdae starts it feels different from before, like Jongdae is falling into the rhythm of it as much as Jongin is, each blow is carefully tempered and placed and following a steady beat for Jongin to breathe into, rock back and meet. They’ve already pulled him open, dragged everything out onto the floor and now all he has to do is acknowledge it. 

 He sinks into the rhythm of it, gasping when one of Jongdae’s swats catches over his crack. It’s easier to talk when his throat is opened for noises so he keeps it up, letting out little whines and groans and gasps with each hit. And eventually his voice just becomes part of the throb, it fuses with the steady wash of heat and he spills his heart out between them. 

 He’s not really aware of the words, just the way they feel, lurching out of him dripping with disappointment and disgust and guilt. Junmyeon is humming along with him, keeping up the rhythm and petting soothing over his neck while Jongdae works him over steadily. 

 Jongin’s never really sure how long this part takes, too caught up between them, but eventually it stops. Eventually Jongdae’s next smack draws a high keening gasp from him, rather than a string of words and it feels like someone has turned the lights back on inside his skull. It feels like all of the jittery nervous energy of the seconds before going on stage is suddenly coursing through his veins, lighting up every nerve. 

 His eyes snap open and everything is overly bright and sharply detailed, his gaze catching on the grain of the wood floor and the light on the beveled edge of the mirror. 

 “There you are, there’s our Jonginnie, you did so good, I knew you could do it.” Jongdae’s voice has him twisting, wanting to _see_ now that he can. He flips onto his back, feels Jongdae’s hands guide him even now, when his movements are jerky and too fast, folding Jongin’s legs up where they are caught by his pants. 

 The cold floor against his sore backside has him gasping, arching up before slowly lowering himself back down. He hasn’t really been aware of his nakedness, but he is now, exposed to Jongdae and Junmyeon’s eyes and he trusts them with this, too. He’s hard, isn’t really sure when that happened, but his dick is curving towards his belly and it aches in time with the throb of his skin on the floor. 

 Jongdae’s face is flushed, pink over his cheeks and down his neck, and his eyes are catching the light, bright as he sinks down to the floor, holding Jongin’s gaze. It makes his stomach squirm, but then Jongdae’s gaze is shifting up, latching to Junmyeon’s and Jongin melts onto the floor, resting his head against the cushion still in Junmyeon’s lap. 

 “Thank you, I know it’s- thank you, Jongdae-hyung, Junmyeon-hyung. Please.” Jongin’s words come out breathy and desperate but they sound different than anything else so far. He feels Junmyeon snake a hand around his jaw, and all the tremble and uncertainty is gone now, his touch firm and sure. 

 “Of course, of course Jongin-ah, you did so well, how do you feel?” Junmyeon’s voice is velvety and rich and perfect. Jongin wants to hear it for hours and he says so. 

 “Well maybe not hours, but we have time, if you want to get off like this.” Jongdae chuckles, dropping heavily to the floor, sitting down and leaning away from them slightly. He doesn’t touch Jongin afterwards, not at all. 

 “Yeah, I think I want to, if that’s,” Jongin huffs out the words, feeling dizzy with the build up of energy inside his body. “okay?” 

 Junmyeon’s other hand reaches out to thread through Jongin’s hair and it has him tilting, looking up. Junmyeon is smiling down at him, eyes gentle and sweet and accepting. “You can touch yourself, Jongin-ah, it’s okay, we’re here with you.” 

 That’s all Jongin needs to hear before he’s rolling his head back, nuzzling into the cushion and reaching down to grip his dick. He’s so sensitized, so full and hard, that the first touch has him jerking, the skin of his ass skidding painfully along the floor. 

 He hears Jongdae’s sneakers squeak as he shifts, then goes totally still. It took a long time for this to be okay, for Jongin to feel comfortable doing this with them. It’s another kind of touch that for most people, goes along with sex, and the first time he had gotten hard after Jongdae had spanked him he had bolted from the room. He’d been terrified that all of his painful, careful words would be undone by his body’s reaction. That there was no way they would be believe him- that this _really_ wasn't about sex. That there was no way helping him was worth this mess of weird, liminal space of energy and expression. And while Jongdae had gone tense, Junmyeon had gathered him up, infinitely more comfortable helping him in this way. 

 So Jongin lets his spine relax and fits his hand over his dick, brushing lightly up and down the length of it. He’s gotten good at this, at separating the physical release of his body from everything else, working up to a rhythm quickly. 

 “That’s it, you look beautiful, Jongin-ah.” Junmyeon’s voice is soft and awed and Jongin’s mouth curves in a smile. It feels like dancing, the rush of pleasure indistinguishable from the one that pours through him when he’s performing on stage. 

 Jongin’s lost in the pulse if it, the way his ass stings as he shifts his hips in tight circles, the feeling of his whole body lighting up, full to overflowing with thrumming energy. And then it tips, release washing over him from the crown of his head down to his toes, a tide of warmth and exhilaration, quiet and powerful. 

 He stills between them, breathing hard and doing his best to ignore the splatter of semen across his belly. This part is still hard sometimes. It feels too much like something it’s not, especially with his eyes closed. He feels emptied out, his head wiped entirely blank and it hits him like a truck how grateful he is, his eyes snapping open. 

 “Thank you, thank you, I’m better, it’s much better now. It’s different, when Taemin isn’t- just… thank you.” He can’t quite track his own words, hopes they make sense, needs them to know how much he appreciates what they do with him.

 “We know, Jonginnie, we love being able to help,” Jongdae’s voice is a little rough, and Jongin watches him stand up, wincing a little as he straightens. “Thank you for trusting us.” 

 Jongin nods, feeling Junmyeon chuckle as the motion tangles his hand in Jongin’s hair. 

 The next few minutes are slow, Jongdae gets a box of tissues and hands it to Junmyeon to help Jongin clean up. Jongin feels little bits of himself coming back steadily as he wobbles to his feet, stripping out of his cold, sweaty shirt and pulling a fresh one from his bag. Junmyeon and Jongdae talk to each other about nothing, filling the studio air with a low murmur as they get ready to leave. 

 Jongin finds himself pausing, eyes scanning around the room and remembering how full it had been a few hours earlier, how claustrophobic and oppressive. It hadn’t felt like his studio, but that’s gone now, it’s all gone, he hopes. His gaze flicks over to Junmyeon and Jongdae, they are watching him with soft smiles from the doorway. 

 “Want to meet us downstairs?” 

 Jongdae’s gaze is curious and liquid. 

 Jongin nods, watches them file out, listens to their footsteps in the hall fade. The dance studio is his again, and he drops his bag, walking in a slow circle around the space, as if the room itself were a flighty animal he is coaxing- or maybe that’s him. He’s too jittery to dance, his body too blurry around the edges for any kind of grace, so he stills, fixes his gaze into the mirror. He reaches for that moment he messed up, feels for it by weight in his belly. It’s there, still heavy, but it feels clean now. It feels like the small mistake it was. _It’s okay._

 Jongin picks up his bag, and walks to the doorway, flipping the light off on his studio on the way out. He feels steadier, more solid, as he hurries to meet them. He knows they will want time alone, they always do, after. Jongin smiles, he imagines he can make do with being squeezed between them on the ride back home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed~  
> you can come find me on [tumblr](http://kpoophell.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk about it. or yell about it. or ask questions about it :)


End file.
